


you only live forever in the lights you make

by amillionsmiles



Series: ball's in your court [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Basketball Boyfriends™, Gen, M/M, Sheith Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionsmiles/pseuds/amillionsmiles
Summary: “And you think you’re not people-smart,” teases Shiro.  His eyes belie the lightness of his tone, heavy as they pin Keith in place.“Maybe I’m only smart when it comes to you.”Shiro chuckles.  “There’s a thought.”// Post-championship game, Keith is still learning about victories—both big and small.





	you only live forever in the lights you make

**Author's Note:**

> y'all. it's been like... months since I wrote this lol, BUT I'M HYPED TO FINALLY SHARE IT. 90% of my reason for this is because I am ALL ABOUT the varsity letterman jacket aesthetic. The other 10% is because I need them to be embarrassingly dorky high school bfs in some alternate universe where they don't get ripped apart at the end of every season.
> 
> bonus ~aesthetic vibes~ can be found here in the form of a [shitty mixtape](http://suan.fm/mix/Zi230fa) because let's be real, Shiro would.

 

“How’s the ankle?”

The cushions bounce slightly as Lance collapses next to Keith on the couch, smelling of Old Spice and perfume.  A Coke glistens in his hand; Keith uncrosses his arms to accept it, popping the tab.  He takes three big gulps, bubbles tickling the back of his throat as he looks at his right foot, propped up on Kimberly Moreno’s coffee table.

“It’ll be fine.”  His eyes flick toward Lance.  “You’ve got lip gloss on your face.”

Lance puffs his chest, pulling his letterman higher on his shoulders.  “What can I say?  Everybody loves a champion.  And by _everybody_ I mean Nyma and by _loves_ I mean—”

 _“Stop.”_ Keith rolls his eyes.  “I do _not_ want to hear these details.”

“Your loss,” shrugs Lance, smile refusing to dim as he bumps Keith’s shoulder.  Loss means nothing to either of them tonight, not when they’ve _won,_ despite Hunk getting elbowed in the nose; despite the turnover that turned into their getting dunked on; despite Keith twisting his ankle during the second quarter and having to sit out the rest of the game, sweating through his jersey as their team eked out a 59-57 victory over Galra Tech.

It won’t make any headlines—Galra and Voltron are known more for their robotics teams than their basketball—but Keith can’t think of a better way to end the season.

“So, at the risk of sounding like a douche,” starts Lance, “but I’m really, _really_ glad I got to play, even though it took your messed up ankle to put me in.”     

Keith blinks.  It’d been a sore spot for them right after tryouts, when Keith had gotten _starter_ and Lance had gotten _benchwarmer._   Especially since Lance had saved up to attend training camp that summer while Keith had waited tables.  To think that after all this, Lance still believes he didn’t deserve to be on the court— 

“You would’ve gone in regardless of whether I got hurt or not, Lance.  You were good, tonight.  You _are_ good, period.”

Lance grins, less bravado, more belief. 

“Good enough to start next year?”

“Definitely.”

Lance opens his mouth to say more, but his eyes catch on something; abruptly, he stands up instead.

“You know, I just remembered—someone wanted me in the kitchen.”  _Wink._

“What—” Keith swivels his head, confused, before a different figure enters his view.

“Nice speech.”  Shiro hands Keith a fresh bag of ice, dropping into the newly vacated spot.  His arm presses against Keith’s with the motion, and Keith swallows, distracting himself by flexing his foot and leaning forward to replace the water-filled bag on his ankle.

“It wasn’t a _speech,_ ” he mutters.  “And anyways, it’s not as good as one of yours.”

Shiro shrugs.  “You have plenty of time to work on it.  _Captain._ ”

The word, though playful, holds a certain weight, a mantle Keith’s not quite ready for—not when he still considers _Shiro_ the true team captain, warm beside him.  Coran had broken the news in the locker room after the game, to Keith’s stunned expression. 

(“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Lance scoffed later, clapping him on the back.  “Even _I_ voted for you.”)

“You’ve got the stats to back it up, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Pidge comforted, adjusting her glasses as she riffled through the book.  She, too, had big shoes to fill, what with assuming Allura’s duties as manager.

And Keith has faith in his talent as a player.  It’s just the leading part that’s off—sometimes he gets tunnel vision, pushes people too hard, is too abrasive.  He isn’t a natural motivator, he isn’t—he isn’t _Shiro._

Shiro, who on the first day of practice partnered with him for dribble drills because Lance and Hunk had already paired off.  Shiro, who took him shopping for basketball shoes when his old ones fell apart.  Shiro, who made sure that Keith ate before every game. 

Shiro, who is graduating. 

“Hey.”  A gentle tug on his ponytail, reminiscent of all the times right before the huddle when Shiro would look into his eyes and ask, _how are you feeling,_ and just like that, Keith is grounded again.  The music’s heavy bass pumps in his ears.  Lance leans against a wall, talking to Nyma.  Pidge is destroying at beer pong under Matt’s watchful gaze.  Hunk and Rolo are arm-wrestling, the rest of the team in the backyard, upstairs, scattered through the house—joking, laughing, celebrating—and Keith gets a flash that this could be them next year, too, if he does his job right. 

“You’re going to be a great captain,” Shiro reassures.

Keith lets himself lean a little closer.  “You think?”

“I know.”

 

*

 

**Keith**

where r u

**Hunk**

helping clean up, gimme like 15 min, sorry

 

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Keith leans against the fence, trying not to put too much weight on his bad ankle. 

“Need a ride?”

Keith shifts, unsurprised at Shiro’s appearance this time.  “Um…yeah, actually.”

 

**Keith**

nvm, going with Shiro

**Hunk**

HA. Lance owes me $10. have fun ;)

 

Hurriedly, Keith swipes the message away, clearing his throat.  “Okay.  We can go.”

“Do you want to wait here? I can bring the car around, I parked a little far.”

“I can make it,” insists Keith, already turning to limp down the sidewalk.  It takes three steps before his toe catches, tripping him forwards—“ _Shit_ —”

“I got you.”  Shiro hooks an arm around his waist and drapes Keith’s left arm across his shoulders, fingers encircling Keith’s wrist.  They make a strange, hunched figure in the moonlight, hobbling together; Lance comes to mind, leering over his battered copy of _Othello,_ mouthing _“the beast with two backs”_ and Keith pushes it away, scowling— _now is **not the time—**_

The metal of Shiro’s car against his back is sweet relief. Keith rests against it, takes a few short breaths while closing his eyes.

When he opens them, Shiro is gazing at him softly.  “You always make things hard for yourself.”

“Says the one joining the military.”

“Hey, ROTC pays for my tuition.  It’s not a bad deal.  Something to consider, next year.” 

“Yeah, okay,” but Keith doesn’t want to consider a senior year without Shiro’s booming laugh, the way he leans into Keith’s space without overwhelming.

His fingers find the door handle.

He turns.

Shiro kisses his cheek.

Keith freezes.

“What—”

“Sorry.”  Shiro’s cheeks glow pink in the moonlight, hands open at his side, and Keith leans harder against the car, suddenly unsteady.  “I should have asked—I don’t know if you remember—”

“Wait.”  Keith’s mind races.  “Is this about…”

Two months ago, Keith had decided to confess in the _locker room,_ of all places, a choice that haunts him still.  It’s too easy to recall the curve of Shiro’s back as he’d pulled his shirt over his head.  His look of surprise, then hesitance: _“I feel the same way, but let’s wait until the season is over, okay?_ ”

Keith had thought that was Shiro’s delicate way of rejecting him; he hadn’t mentioned it since.  But now—

“I didn’t know you were going to make a move immediately after the season finished,” he blurts.

Shiro shrugs.  “It’s 1 AM. The stars are out, you’re leaning against my car…it’s all very romantic.” 

A pause. 

“Better than a locker room, anyways,” he adds, grinning.

“Shut _up,_ ” Keith groans, reaching for Shiro’s letterman jacket and tugging him forward.  Shiro catches himself, forearm braced against the window, other hand hovering over Keith’s hip.  Tentative, still.  Keith’s call.

In the dark, Keith follows the bob of Shiro’s Adam’s apple.

“I get why you wanted to wait, now,” he says, soft, the realization rolling around his mind like a ball circling the rim.  “If we were going out, and then I got captain…people would have talked.”

“And you think you’re not people-smart,” teases Shiro.  His eyes belie the lightness of his tone, heavy as they pin Keith in place.

“Maybe I’m only smart when it comes to you.”

Shiro chuckles.  “There’s a thought.”  His next words are closer, brushing the shell of Keith’s ear.  “Besides, I needed you focused on basketball, not me.”

“ _That’s_ a little conceited.”

“Is it?”

Fingers dance along the hem of Keith’s shirt and then they’re under it, pressed against the small of his back; Keith shivers, thinks of victories—big and small.

“Your hand’s _cold._ ”

“Sorry,” murmurs Shiro, but there’s little remorse in it, just a smile pressed against Keith’s temple, a buzzer going off in Keith’s head.  A knee between his legs, their bodies aligning, and Keith thinks of that moment of grace when he releases the ball from his hands, watching it arc away from him with a held breath—and when Shiro finally, _finally_ kisses him, it’s bleachers full of people rising to their feet, the thunderous roar of a crowd, the sweetest of sighs as the ball tumbles, headlong, through the net.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see this in print form? Want to see the amazing art that [Dita](http://ditaauraart.tumblr.com/) drew up to accompany it? Then please consider ordering a [PDF copy of our zine](http://sheithzine.tumblr.com/), full of work from a host of other amazing writers and artists whom I adore! Proceeds go to [beyondblue](https://www.beyondblue.org.au/), a mental health organization :)


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